The little boy inside mommy's tummy

Got the DVD from In My Womb yesterday, and so, without much ado, may we (Jam and I) present....

Jerard Danniel O. Segun. at 28-29 weeks.
EDD: January 10, 2009
CS Schedule: January 3, 2009

He is named after St. Gerard, patron saint of childbearing women; and Danniel, which is (was) my pseudo.

For more pics, visit my photos

Too Early for Goodbye

In August 2000, Alphabet died.

I got a call from our college friends, telling me that Alphabet was in the hospital. We visited him and I managed to catch a glimpse of him as he lay in bed. We weren't allowed to enter his room, but a relative of his updated us on Alphabet's situation.

A few days later, I was informed that he passed away. I was shocked, along with everyone else. Sure, he was the oldest in our barkada, but he was at the prime of his life. But more than shocked, I was saddened.

I hadn't seen Alphabet since my debut. When I invited him, he was already persona non grata in our barkada, due to some misunderstanding about a girl he and another friend were courting. But we remained in touch, although not as often as before. He had transferred to another school, also, which contributed to the widening gap.

During my debut, he had the girl in tow and he came late. I was worried because he was my 17th dance (I had to save the 18th for my escort). In his face I could read the sadness, and now I begin to feel how hard it must have been for him to come to my birthday when his friends were all ignoring him. After the brief dance, he left without a word. It was as if he came merely to satisfy me, as if it was his birthday gift to me.

At his funeral, I learned that most of his friends have forgiven him. So it became a sort of reunion for us, the Giordano Girls, and the Untouchables. There were so many stories of Alphabet, updates to his life, but in essence, he remained a mystery to us.

I so badly wanted to share snippets of my journal with my friends. Journals that detailed my friendship with him, stories of his life that only I knew because it was between the two of us. I brought my journals to the funeral, and my close friends and I journeyed back to when Alphabet lives and breathes.

But the most striking entry was our conversation about dying. Months before I was to turn 18, I shared that I had this scary thought that I'd never see my 18th birthday. That, like Sleeping Beauty, tragedy would befall me on the eve of my birthday. I couldn't look far ahead into the future and see myself.

He assured that I was being paranoid. That I'd do fine and advised me not to dwell on such things.

On the next breath, he was telling me he's pretty sure he'd never live to see his 25th birthday. It was time to turn the table and for me to call him paranoid. But he said he knew his body well, and it wouldn't last that long.

Those were the thoughts running in my head as I looked at him lying cold on a shallow box. All along we believed he was two years older than we were...it was what he led us to believe so we'd make him our kuya. But when we asked his mom, he was just a year older.

He died in August of 2000. Months before his 25th birthday.

And the words he'd spoken over the phone returned to me with a scream. It pained me to know that I know of this, and yet...wasn't able to say goodbye. It pained me to know that all those years, I had made myself believe that come what may, we'd cross paths again. It pained me to believe that I wasn't the friend to him that I promised to be.

I wanted badly to introduce myself to his mother and give her my journal filled with Alphabet's memories. But there was no use. My friends laughed at our corny conversations, oohed and ahhed at the kilig moments and cried at my brokenheartedness. But it was a past Alphabet and I shared, his secret and my fantasy granted. I wanted to keep it to myself and yet shout it to the world...that yes, I did loved him way back. Perhaps I did not love him anymore that time, but he had been a precious part of my life then.

But, like his passing on, I too have moved on. Whatever stories my journal held, they were to be buried with him. What remained of our story is in my head. A loving tribute to the enigmatic charming guy/friend/brother.

PS: I just was reminded that indeed, this month we celebrate his death. I started this entry in February, meaning to write the words just as they come. But for one reason or another, I never did get to finish it until today. August 22.

Goodbye Alphabet.

The Marriage Proposal

"Will you marry me, my sweet sexy darling housewife"

Over the phone and the biggest joke in my life, it was also the first marriage proposal I received. I was turning 18.

Taken by surprise (huh??? No courtship? No engagements???) I asked "What?!"

And he repeated it...""Will you marry me, my sweet sexy darling housewife?"

Okay, first, I'll explain where sweet sexy darling housewife came from.

Sweet. He thought I was sweet. Over the phone, my voice is at its best. I can be sweet if I want to. And I definitely did want to.

Sexy. Well, what can I say. I am still called this up to this day.

Darling. My dad's pet name for me. He managed to hear it when he called and my mom answered the phone. My mom called me..."Darling, phone!" (PS: My dad's pet names for us - Mahal (Dear) for my Mom; Sweetheart for Ate; Love for Rodgie)

Housewife. He called me up one time while I was doing the laundry, and another time, when I was ironing clothes (Alila talaga noh?- The maid takes a month-long vacation during fiesta month and I get stuck with some of the chores). He said I'm the perfect housewife.

So there. Sweet, sexy, darling housewife. He'd been calling me his darling housewife for sometime. He shoul have thrown in another "Gorgeous" somewhere there, plus a diamond ring and I'd have no second thoughts.

But I replied "I can't" When he asked why, I told him because we were still too young.

I had never been as confused about things as I was at that moment. I knew he had been kidding, because he had to be...But my heart then wasn't at all ready for play.

The silence, the gap, loomed larger after that. He was having problems in school and was in danger of being kicked-out (the honest word for Not To Be Re-admitted). My lovelife had broadened to include a funny Chinese classmate and my older sister's friends.

The questions I should have asked then are stuck in a diary that I lost over time. And I guess, there will never be any answers at all. Regrets are best taken with a spoonful of memories.

Memories

My psyche was so well attuned to his frequency that when the phone rings, or sometimes, even before it does, I'd know it was him.

If he was put-off by me or our aloofness during classes, he did not show it.

He'd once asked me to watch a cartoon movie with him...at National Bookstore, Quezon Avenue. He said he'd drive by and pick me up and offered to buy me McDo apple pie.

He'd pretend to be a Jamaican/Raggae rapper/DJ anything funny. He'd tell old, corny Indian jokes (May isang Indian nagbebenta ng banig...)

He once briefly held my hand while we were watching basketball in one of the old gyms in Quiapo.

After a gimik at a mall to celebrate his and Miss Piggy's birthday, he told a friend of ours to tell me that my fly was open. I was positive I'd die of embarrassment. Later, over the phone, I thanked him. To make me feel better, he told me that it has happened to him also...and it was a female who pointed it out to him.

Kilig Moments...the Stuff Movies are Made Of

Alphabet played bass guitar, and he liked showing off his skill. Even over the phone. He'd play a tune and I'm suppose to guess what song. But I wasn't into music then, since I had myself pretty convinced I can't sing to redeem myself. One song I can remember though, is Toto's I'll Be Over You. I didn't know that song then, but it's become one of my favorites right after that. And I'd never forget that time he played it for me over the phone.

Every chance I could talk to him, every moment I could spend with him was kilig moment. Perhaps it was a one-way street, but he was polite enough, and nice enough, to let me pass that street.

I once asked him why he could be so indifferent in person, when he's so talkative and open with me over the phone. He mumbled a few excuses, and it boiled down to both of us waiting for the other to start the ball rolling. It bothered me, the way we could be best friends on the wire, and strangers for real. I felt I was being short-changed, but I was willing to get anything I can. For what it was worth, I got my just rewards.

*****

Potassium permanganate. The substance of kilig.

Chemistry class that day was horrible. No amount of careful handling prevented me from getting potassium permanganate stains on my lab gown and hands. I was washing beakers and tubes and giving my palms a good dose of scrubbing when Alphabet came and stood beside me. He looked at my hands and told me to hand him the soap and he'll do the washing and I concentrate on my hands. He'd finished cleaning the wares and I was still sloughing off my skin. Laughingly, he took one of hands, grabbed a brush and pretended to brush it like a maniac. I was ticklish, add to that, so out of breath with his nearness and the fact that he was holding my hand. I tried to pull my hand but he continued to soap it and rub it. When it became apparent that even his TLC won't do anything, we rinsed our hands...and went our separate ways. We never, not even once, talked about that incident.

For my 17th birthday, I invited the merry gang to my house...the Giordano Girls and the boys. Alphabet gave me a bar of Whachamacallit, wrapped in silver foil and red yarn. I kept the wrapper and ribbon until a fire in my room two years after destroyed it. Since the GGs knew of my infatuation with Alphabet, they took pains ensuring we were beside each other always. Pictures were taken. He helped blow the candles. Then my friends insisted I open their present. It was a gray Giordano shirt...the same brand/color/shade we gave Alphabet for his birthday. If that wasn't bad enough, they made me try it on...infront of him. If my coloring allows me to blush, I would have put roses to shame then.

Alphabet Soup 1

My friends and I called him Alphabet...because his name seem to contain all the letters of the alphabet. Incidentally, in highschool, my codename during Christmas Monito-Monita was also Alphabet...because my name contains all but ten letters of the alphabet.

So what about Alphabet? He was a cutee, though not in that hunky chunky sort of way that I really prefer. He was cute in that he was smaller than most of his friends, good facial features...I really didn't care much about him, actually, it was Ms. Piggy who had a crush on him. But I started to notice him when he butted in during one of the discussions about Highlander, the Series. If he had been any other person, I would have chalked him up with the rest of the egocentrics (which were 10 cents a piece among the male population in our college department). But he was wearing sunglasses and my mouth fell open and I was reduced to being an idiot.

Sometime later, given an opportune moment, with us both being class officers, I worked on the nerves to call him up. With a little (count hours) persuation from Ms. Giordano Girl, I managed to dial his phone number and ask for him. Luckily, it was Alphabet who answered. If it had been his mom or somebody else, I'd haved hung up. I was so out of myself I started asking if we had classes the next day that I completely forgot to introduce myself. When he asked, I mumbled "your classmate" which, of course, was stupid, even by my own standards. After I properly identified myself, he seem to warmed up a bit and asked if I was doing anything else and if we could chat for a while. My little heart pumped all the blood to my brains, so much so that it got overflooded with oxygen. I blurted out "I can't. We're not allowed to chat on the phone". I could've hit myself on the head with the phone and never regret it more than I did saying those words...

But then again, he seem to read the signs and called me up frequently after that. Fifteen minutes...thirty minutes...soon we were having one hour chats. Mostly, we just laughed at things, gross jokes that amuses him, yucky stuff that makes me wanna throw up. If there was a person with whom I enjoyed talking it was Alphabet.

Over the phone, he seem like the perfect guy. But up front and personal, it seems there was always this wall around him...and only a few people were allowed in. Ms. Piggy, Ms. Giordano Girls, most of the cool girls and his band of friends. I was on the outside. Too awkward to set foot inside in case I was not invited. Too cautious in case he might break my own walls. Sometimes, I did managed to climb up a wall and took a peek...He'd respind positively. But most of the times, I just stood outside the gate and wait for him to open up.

Next...Kilig Moments with Alphabet

Betcha Didn't Know This About Me

So, the time came to decide...to go out with the Confessions...of a Picked Mind. Ha ha and ha. Isn't it great, that the world is full of wonderful crazy things, and we can hide from it or enjoy it like it'll get out of stock tomorrow?

I've always been afraid. Of this and that. People assume I'm a free spirited, go-getter, don't-care-a-fig girl, but I've always wondered if that's just a front. I'm actually scared of confrontations because I don't want to be thrust into the limelight without a script (which is what usually happens in a confrontation...). I hate not knowing what's next, or how an exact thing would turn out (I'm a sucker for recipes!)

Before trips, I surf the net for hours looking for and memorizing maps. I'm an OC with lists. I write down everything. I plan and dissect every aspect of my foreseeable future. I lie awake at night turning every possibilities in my head. I've an internal clock that wakes me up at the exact time every day, even with a bad hangover. I diet and count calories so I'd live to see my grandchildren vacation to Pluto.

And then, on the spot, I'd go "What the heck!", and go the opposite way. I lose papers and list and promptly forget where I place things. I go and have confrontations anyway because my mouth is faster than my mind, and my mind is faster than my sense of caution. I snack on chocolate bars and treat myself to ice cream on blah blah days.

Anyway, I'm the anti-thesis of how people perceive me. I'm the exact opposite of what I've managed to become, so far...Isn't that crazy or what?